The Memory Remains
by Tea55
Summary: Memories are precious. They are also a curse. Dean/Castiel, oneshot, contains character!death.


**Disclaimer:** Not mine, Kripke's.

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** Memories are precious. They are also a curse.

**A/N: **This story was inspired by the question is it better to have loved and lost or never have loved at all? It contains character!death and some major angst. All in all, this is not a happy story.

**THE MEMORY REMAINS**

To be able to feel is a gift. To look upon another and feel every intake of his breath as a blessing is something precious.

But it is also a stolen, forbidden pleasure no angel has a right to.

Castiel comes to realize it the hard way.

"No, please," Castiel begs, not caring about preserving his dignity, aware only of the horrifying fact that his punishment isn't death or falling as he always thought it would be, but something worse. "You cannot do that… cannot ask that of me."

"You have chosen your path alone, Castiel. Now follow it," comes the unforgiving voice of his brother. "Alone."

"Kill me," Castiel pleads, but the look in the other angel's eyes doesn't change, and Castiel realizes how there is no mercy to be expected, but it is too cruel, even if he has committed the gravest sin of all. Disobedience. And all because he couldn't bear the disdain of a mortal man. "Please, have mercy."

"I am but a messenger, Castiel. This decision is not mine."

"How long?" Castiel asks, for the first time in his long existence feeling cold.

Something like unease crosses the features of the other angel's human face, but it is gone immediately. Or maybe it was never there. "Forever."

Castiel flinches as if struck, the word forever echoing ominously inside his very being as fear and horror wrap their icy fingers around his soul, squeezing tight, but he keeps quiet this time. There will be no mercy of death for him.

He also wants to scream and curse the injustice of his punishment as anger blazes inside him, but he keeps it tightly coiled inside. There is no need to shatter what was left of his dignity in front of the other angel.

There are thousands of things Castiel wants to do, but in the end, he simply stands still, shivering, long after the other angel disappears and the daylight turns into the darkness of the night.

******

Castiel watches Dean.

Dean doesn't know it. Mustn't know it. And this time Castiel dares not to disobey. Not even to say 'goodbye'. For Dean he had been willing to risk his life, his entire existence, but not even for Dean's peace of mind will he risk Dean's life.

"_You are to stay away from Dean Winchester. You cannot show your presence or interfere with his life in any way. If you go against these orders, Castiel, Dean's blood will be on your hands." _

That is what Castiel's punishment is all about. To watch and yearn and feel desire and need tear his soul apart, but do nothing. Stay back, lost in the shadows.

In the beginning Dean mentions his name sometimes. Asks Sam if he thinks Cas is okay now, if he's having fun up among the clouds. If he watches over them still.

Castiel now knows Dean inside and out, knows that the light, nonchalant way he asks those questions is false. Sees it in the tense lines of Dean's body, in the way he holds his breath as he waits for Sam's reply. Hears it in the way Dean's heartbeat speeds up.

Castiel never waits for Sam's reply. Usually, he is long gone before the confusion on Sam's face turns into an expression that is equal parts sympathy and pity.

Dean stops asking after a while; he also stops staring at the sky when he is alone, whispering simple nonsense as if he is talking with Castiel, and Castiel feels both relieved and saddened by it.

He wants Dean's happiness, but the love burning inside him is selfish and possessive, screaming its rage and pain at the way Dean seems to gradually let go of him. To forget.

But Castiel cannot. Cannot let go, let alone forget. He also never stops watching.

******

Sam marries, Dean does not. Castiel lingers in the shadows, watching, but he doesn't wait for anything anymore.

He used to hope and he used to pray – for the Lord's mercy, for a miracle, for Dean to again whisper that nickname he gave him, but his prayers went unanswered and, after a while, Castiel began to despise hope and fight against it because it brought him nothing but heartache. Sometimes he was successful, but most of the time he wasn't.

Sam and Dean continue hunting after the apocalypse, although, after the birth of his son, Sam spends more time doing research than actual hunting.

They are happy, Castiel knows it. He now knows all the shades of all the emotions, happiness perhaps the best of all because it is the emotion he longs for, no matter how much it escapes him.

He also knows that listening to the sound of Dean's laughter as he plays with his nephew should be enough to make him happy, but it is not. He still wants, needs to reach out and touch Dean. Needs to feel Dean's body shake under his touch like before. Needs to see his eyes ablaze with passion and something that could have been love if they'd had more time together. And he needs it with a desperation and strength that are frightening because as painful as it is to carry the love that can never be inside him forever, the thought of that love turning into resentment terrifies him more than anything.

Castiel stops trailing after Dean after he falls in love with a woman named Tess.

She has dark hair and blue eyes and she is nothing like the endless string of women Dean has been with over the years. She is quiet -- shy, almost-- and she doesn't smile often, but to Castiel it looks like Dean makes it his mission to make her laugh as often as possible.

Castiel tries to feel happy, or at least thankful, that Dean has someone to call his own, because as much as Sam and his family mean to Dean, Castiel knows that Dean has always yearned for something or someone that would be purely his own. Once upon a time, Castiel hoped it would be him.

He tries for two months, but when Dean whispers 'I love you, Tess' for the first time, Castiel flees Dean's house, but the memory of those words remains and Castiel feels it like a dagger, permanently lodged inside his soul because he is an angel and angels don't have hearts.

Castiel roams the earth for three years, but his thoughts are constantly in that small town in Kansas with Dean. He remembers the curve of Dean's grin, the softness of his lips, and the taste of salt on his skin. He remembers everything about Dean and it is his curse and his blessing at the same time.

After a while he cuts off all the senses which tell him where Dean is. How he is feeling. It doesn't help. And after three years, Castiel learns another lesson that humans know all too well.

You cannot escape yourself.

******

When Castiel returns, Dean is alone. Tess is dead. Killed by a drunk driver.

He cannot tell if it is irony or a cruel twist of fate, but Castiel returns the day of Tess's funeral. It hurts to look at Dean's blank face as he stands silent during the ceremony, but Castiel cannot look away. It has been too long since he last saw Dean. Not even Castiel was aware how long until he stands only a couple of steps from Dean as he mourns the loss of a loved one, feeling the weight of every single second of the past three years.

Dean doesn't say a word and his eyes remain dry. He simply stands still, staring at the distance, but the misery and sorrow are like a thick robe wrapped around him. Castiel feels guilty. Guilty for all those times he was envious of Dean's happiness. His selfishness got the better of him, made him forget that there is not a burden he wouldn't bear to spare Dean from pain. And now there is nothing to be done, simply watch Dean's dead, resigned eyes.

When Dean stays alone with Sam by Tess's grave, his mask finally cracks. "I forgot, Sammy. Forgot about normal," he whispers, not looking at his brother, but slowly trailing his fingers against the letters of his love's name engraved in stone. "I thought… if I kept the demons and other supernatural sons of bitches away from her, I wouldn't lose her." The sound of Dean's laughter – cold and harsh – feels like a thousand icy needles piecing Castiel's soul. "I did it, Sam. I kept them away… but she's dead anyway." The sorrow in Dean's voice is like poison that seeps into Castiel's soul. It burns and hurts and accuses. If he hadn't been so selfish, if he had been here, he might have saved her. Might have made it possible for Dean to be happy. "Gone… like everyone else."

"Dean, I know it's too soon to think about it, but you could find…"

"No," Dean cuts Sam off. Castiel knows that tone. He's heard it many times. It was that stubborn, almost irrational determination that first drew Castiel to Dean. "She was supposed to be it. I'm done playing house, Sam. It's not in the cards for me."

"Dean, it's in everyone's cards. Ours are just more complicated."

"You mean more fucked up," Dean snorts, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm happy for you Sam, I really am, but I'm tired of losing people. To demons or drunk drivers, even to Go…" When Dean's voice – angry and bitter – falters at the last word something flutters inside Castiel's chest. Hope. Selfish, cruel hope that there is still a part of Dean's heart that belongs to him. No matter how small. "Maybe I'm a coward, but I'm not doing this to myself again."

"Dean," Sam tries for the last time, but the look Dean throws him shuts him up.

Dean stays by the grave long after Sam leaves, throwing a last worried look at his brother, and Castiel stays beside him.

It takes him all his willpower to fight against the desire to reach out and brush his fingers against Dean's face and wipe away the wetness from his cheeks. He doesn't do it, even when Dean really breaks and buries his face into his hands, his half-choked sobs echoing loudly in the silence of the cemetery.

He even stays his hand when Dean lifts his tear stricken face toward the sky and whispers, 'fuck you, you bastard,' his voice dripping with bitter resentment.

Castiel doesn't do anything to try to comfort Dean. Mostly because it is forbidden for him to approach Dean, but now he is also afraid that the emotion Dean holds for him in his heart is not love or even fondness, but hatred, because he cannot be sure at whom Dean's bitter accusation was addressed to, Castiel or his Father.

After Tess's death, Castiel doesn't move away from Dean. He watches him as years pass by, adding lines on his face and grays to his hair, but to Castiel it makes no difference because thirty, forty, fifty, it doesn't matter how old Dean is. To Castiel he is always beautiful.

But it also reminds Castiel how fragile, how limited human lives are. How there will come the day when he will lose even this bittersweet comfort of breathing the same air as Dean.

Dean never really stops hunting, but he doesn't live for it as he used to. It makes Castiel relieved. Again, he is selfish, but every time Dean goes out on a hunt, Castiel is afraid that it will be the last time and he cannot protect him, cannot use any of his powers to avert danger from Dean if he wishes for Dean to not suffer the wrath of heaven because of Castiel's transgressions.

Dean visits Sam and his family often, and now Castiel draws strength from the happiness he sees on Dean's face as he teaches John all about the 'family business' and teases young Mary. Mary who has eyes like her uncle. But most of the time it is just the two of them in Dean's house in Lawrence. Together, but alone.

But even so, Castiel doesn't mind the silence if he can listen to the sound of Dean's breathing every day.

******

Dean dies at the age of fifty-four.

Castiel watches him die. Watches, unable to do anything as a vampire tears Dean's throat. Watches as Dean slowly sinks to his knees, holding his neck, blood pouring through his fingers and down onto the ground.

Castiel stays frozen on the spot, watching his world die as the light slowly darkens in Dean's eyes. And then it happens. Mercy or his final punishment, Castiel doesn't know, but Dean looks at him. Sees through the invisibility that Castiel has wrapped around himself and just like that, the years disappear and they are again Dean and Cas, sharing something beautiful, precious, and fragile in dangerous and cruel times, as a gentle, but still mischievous grin stretches Dean's lips.

"Cas," Dean breathes out, his eyes blazing with warmth and happiness and _love_, a second before his body sags on the ground.

Something cracks inside Castiel. It is a quiet sound, nothing spectacular, nothing to indicate the gaping hole that has opened inside his very being, never to be closed again.

Castiel snaps the vampire's neck in passing as he slowly walks over to Dean's dead body. When he lowers himself onto his knees beside Dean's still body, he gently turns him over, his trembling fingers hesitating over Dean's face before lowering and tracing each and every line on it, lingering on Dean's lips, still drawn into a smile.

Castiel feels the pain building inside him like a tidal wave, feels his Grace starting to flare, his ties to his human body weakening, and for one moment, Castiel wants to let himself go, burn to cinder this warehouse and everything around it with the force of his pain and anger, but he cannot. It would harm the innocent people living in this neighborhood. And that would be the last thing Dean would have wanted. So instead, Castiel pulls Dean's body up, cradling it against his own and for the first time in his entire existence, he weeps.

******

Time loses meaning for Castiel after Dean's death. Seconds, minutes, years, centuries… they are all the same. Only bricks in the road that stretch infinitely in front of him, leading nowhere. Forever.

The first couple of years pass by Castiel in a haze. He wanders aimlessly through the world of humans; he doesn't even bother to hide his presence. In any case, he doesn't have to. People avoid him; their gazes slip past him as if he were one of those poor, unfortunate souls whose mind had regressed to that of a child. One of the inconvenient ones, but harmless in essence.

They are mistaken, though; it is not his mind, but his soul that is broken, and the only one who could heal it is forever lost to him.

Castiel exists, not by his choosing or desire, but by his inability to end his existence. He goes through the mechanics – he walks, he listens, he watches, and sometimes he even speaks, like that one time when he stood on a street corner, remembering, and a girl – he remembers her clearly, she had kind eyes – mistakenly took him for a beggar and stuffed a ten dollar bill inside his pocket. He had whispered 'thank you' long after she was gone, his first spoken words since he was dealt his sentence. One of Castiel's rare memories that has nothing to do with Dean.

But existing is not living. Not really. Living implies meaning, substance, and Castiel doesn't have any. In the end, he doesn't have anything save bloodstained clothes and memories that are becoming more a curse than a blessing with each passing moment.

******

Time passes and Castiel cannot forget.

Cannot forget each and every moment he spent with Dean. But his memories are the only thing that stays the same while all else changes. While he changes. Again.

Before, long before, he was content and sure of his place. He had no doubts or questions. He was a good, obedient soldier. But then he met Dean and his world changed, _he_ changed, turning into the Moon to Dean's Sun and now, without Dean's warmth and his pull, he is cold, alone, and lost, wandering aimlessly in the dark.

He becomes bitter and his faith turns to ash over the years. He stops caring about things as God's will and heavenly justice because there is no justice or love to be found in heaven. Only rules and lies to keep other angels such as he once was in line.

Eighty years after Dean's death, Castiel realizes that he is truly homeless the first time he thinks of heaven as a place that holds Dean out of his reach and not his home.

A hundred years after Dean's death, Castiel realizes that he is an angel only by name when he thinks there is no God and believes it.

A hundred and fifty years after Dean's death, Castiel stares at the black eyes of a demon wearing the body of a young girl and lets it live. A day later his wings turn black.

Two hundred years after Dean's death, he sees a man who looks exactly like Dean and for one moment an emotion he thinks is called happiness blossoms inside his chest and he feels warm for the first time since he held Dean's dead body against his own, but then the man looks his way and the soul shining from his eyes is wrong, wrong, wrong…

Castiel doesn't try to control the scream of despair and anger that tears from his mouth, nor does he stop to check what happens to that man after he falls to his knees, clutching at his ears with bloodied fingers. He simply disappears.

Uriel once called the human race parasites. Sneered at their habit of invading and twisting to suit their purposes every inch of the world they inhabited.

Now Castiel understands what Uriel meant. Now when he longs to disappear, to find a place where he would never have to look upon a human face again. Never to hear a human voice.

Never to resent the fact that it isn't Dean's face. That it isn't Dean's voice.

He finds the place he has been searching for in the heart of an African desert.

******

Time passes and Castiel knows this only because the color of the sky changes along with the increasing temperature. He also feels death and destruction in the air as humans wage their last great war, but it is as insignificant to him as he is insignificant in the eyes of his former brothers.

After a while, the destruction stops and Castiel can feel new life blossoming from the ruins of the old one, but it leaves him cold and indifferent. He doesn't hate humans as Uriel had, but he cannot force himself to care about their fate. Not even to honor Dean's love for this world and everyone in it.

Free will comes with a price, it gives you the power to choose your own destiny, but every decision and every sin comes with a price. He knows it better than anyone. Even if his sin was committed out of love.

Castiel doesn't know how much time has passed since he buried himself in this barren, scorched wasteland when he starts dreaming. He didn't even know that angels could dream, but he had previously believed that angels couldn't love or laugh. Or weep.

He dreams the most of Dean's eyes. Dreams of them angry and disappointed, narrowed in suspicion, even averted in fear. He also dreams them gentle and warm, full of passion and fire. Sometimes even love. But no matter how they are looking at Castiel from the tangled web of his dreams and memories, they are always green. Nothing like the dirty shades of tan that are surrounding him.

After a while, Castiel cannot bear to look at the dry, cracked land and search in vain for any signs of life, of something green, so he simply stops looking. One day he closes his eyes and keeps them closed.

It doesn't help, though. He still sees everything. He still cannot see anything green.

After the ground around him turns from tan to dark brown and the sky from orange to blood red, Castiel begins to think that he is losing his sanity.

The lines between his memories and dreams blur and fade, but reality always comes crashing down, destroying the illusion of Dean's hands on his body, of Dean's lips on his skin, and no matter how hard he tries, Castiel never catches the fading image of Dean's face, his reaching fingers always closing around nothing but air.

But it doesn't stop him from trying. Again and again and again…

******

_Dean is smiling, lazy and smug, as he traces the lines of Castiel's face with his fingers. _

_He does it often and Castiel never questions why, he merely returns the favor, but uses his eyes instead. It is easier than to think how every bite and bruise in the shape of Dean's teeth and fingers on his body is Dean's attempt to bind him to him. To leave a part of himself on Castiel. Castiel never points out how fast those marks will fade; he leaves Dean his small comforts. _

_Also, he never tries to tell with words how strong the chains are that hold him tied to Dean. It was too early for that and the chaos of the outside world was still what took priority over their small world. That, of course, didn't meant that Castiel couldn't use his lips and his hands to show just how strong the mark Dean has left on his soul was. _

"_You know," Dean says, his fingers trailing lower, stopping over the pulse point on Castiel's neck, "I think Sam knows. Or at least suspects." _

"_Does that bother you?"_

_Dean's grin fades, but he doesn't pull his fingers from Castiel's neck. "It's not that," Dean says finally. "It's complicated. We're in the middle of an apocalypse and you're…"_

_Dean cuts himself off and pulls himself into a sitting position. He runs his hand through his hair and Castiel feels how his peaceful mood from just moments before is gone, replaced by worry and fear. And guilt._

"_I am what?" Castiel asks, gripping Dean's chin and forcing him to look him in the face. "A man?"_

"_That's the whole fucking problem, Cas," Dean says earnestly. "You're not. You're not a man, you're an angel and I'm still waiting for lightning to strike me every time I touch you or think about touching you."_

"_This is not a sin, Dean," Castiel says solemnly, his other hand joining the first so he can cradle Dean's face between his splayed palms. "You will not be punished."_

"_How about you?" Dean asks in a voice that is barely a whisper and Castiel's heart skips a beat. He doesn't keep under control the reactions of his human body anymore; he lets his body do what it comes naturally to it. Now, it feels cold, almost ill. _

"_Cas? What about you?" Dean insists, his voice gaining an edge of panic. _

_Castiel smiles reassuringly. "I am not going anywhere, Dean," Castiel says, punctuating his words by stroking Dean's face with the pads of his thumbs._

_Dean doesn't look convinced. "Stop weaseling your way out of a straight answer, Cas," Dean demands. "Are you going to be punished because of me?"_

"_No," Castiel answers, and it is the truth. Just not the whole truth. "I will not be punished because of you." _

_Dean frowns, his eyes scanning Castiel's face, searching for the signs of deceit, but then his face relaxes and a real, happy smile flashes on his face before it turn into a sly grin. "That's good to hear, Cas," he says, leaning forward so he can nip Castiel's earlobe, pushing Castiel down on the bed with the weight of his body, "cos I really, really want to corrupt you."_

It feels real – wet, soft touch of lips on his neck, the insistent tug of hands on his clothes, the solid weight of another body on top of his, like it always does, but this time it feels too real.

Something inside him recoils at that touch, at the wrongness of it. Castiel knows how Dean's touch feels, whether gentle or demanding, and this now, it is not Dean.

Castiel's hand shoots out, grabbing the wandering hand before it slips past the waistband of his pants. When he opens his eyes, he is met with a sight of a female face, her full lips curved into a sensual smile, but Castiel keeps his attention fixed on the malicious amusement in her eyes. Her black eyes.

"Come on, play with me," she – it – whispers, leaning so she could lick a wet stripe from his chin to his neck. "You can call me Dean if you want."

Castiel's insides twist with disgust and anger and he pushes her off of himself with all his strength, her body landing in the dirt a couple of feet away.

Castiel doesn't care about angels and demons and the everlasting battle between heaven and hell, but he is still an angel and there is still something that demands of him to dispose of the abomination that is currently glaring at him as she rises from the ground. If for no other reason than because she dared to speak Dean's name.

"No wonder heaven tossed you out if you're behaving like this with those who want to help you."

"Why would a demon want to help anyone, let alone me?" Castiel asks, his voice sounding dry and cracked from the centuries of silence. He isn't sure why is he wasting his time engaging this demon in conversation when he knows that there are agendas behind agendas behind lies with their kind. Curiosity? Loneliness?

"You're a legend in hell, Castiel," she says, her confidence along with her grin back, but she stays out of Castiel's reach.

"You know my name. How?"

She disregards the warning in Castiel's tone, her grin widening. "Like I said, you're a legend in hell. Well, you and Dean both," her grin turns bitter, her eyes flashing with disgust as she says Dean's name. "A doomed love story between a man and an angel."

Castiel ignores the irony of her last words, now interested in the reasons behind this demons' visit. "Since when does hell make a point of taking interest in heaven's outcasts?"

"You do remember that hell was made by one of heaven's outcasts, don't you, Castiel?"

"I am nothing like Lucifer," Castiel says icily. "I have no interest in joining any rebellion against heaven."

"I'm not here to recruit you," she says, rolling her eyes. "And besides, there's no rebellion in the works. Not since the fiasco of the last one."

"Then why are you here?"

"Honestly?" She asks, snorting at Castiel's hard look. "We're capable of telling the truth, you know that. It's just that most of the time we choose not to."

"And I am for some reason worthy of a demon's honesty?" Castiel asks, growing weary of this pointless banter. But he has no desire to leave because as desolate and barren as this place is, it is the only place he can think of as his home. Also, he has no desire to banish this demon. Not unless given a reason to. His time of doing heaven's clean up has long passed.

"You know what, Castiel?" She says lightly, lowering herself gracefully down to the ground, until she is more lying than sitting, supporting herself on her elbows. Castiel frowns, his gaze sweeping over the demons' human body, her relaxed posture and a smug grin a clear sign of how this demon thinks that Castiel is no threat to it. "I have to admit that at first I didn't believe those stories about an angel wasting away in the desert, but the stories didn't stop, so I decided to check it out by myself. And here you are," she drawls, her smile turning as sharp as a razorblade, "an angel neither heaven nor hell wants."

Castiel flinches before he has a time to stop himself, and the demon's eyes flash with triumph. "I have to give those holy bastards a credit, when they decide to punish someone, they do it thoroughly. I think even my side could pick up a few tricks from them."

Castiel takes a threatening step towards the still smirking demon before he realizes that it is telling the truth. Hell is pain, violence, and despair, but that is nothing compared to heaven's meticulous cruelty disguised as justice. "If you're seeking lessons or amusement, you have come to the wrong place," Castiel says calmly. "I have no desire to destroy you or send you back, but that does not mean I won't do it if you do not leave this place."

"Why? So you can go back to moping about Dean?"

The sound of the demon's words hasn't died down before Castiel has the demon is his grip, pulling its body up, pressing the palm of his right hand against its forehead.

"Wait, wait… I can help you," the demon's words are hurried, its eyes widened in panic and Castiel knows he shouldn't listen to its lies. But it has been long since he stopped doing what he should.

Castiel relaxes his grip on the demon's neck, but still keeps his palm against its forehead. "Help me?" he repeats in a low voice, feeling the body in his grip relax slightly. "With what? And why would you want to help me?"

"Why not? Since Lucifer's defeat and humans practically destroying this place there's not much fun to be found anywhere."

Castiel sighs and pushes the demon backwards, making it stumble. "You are a truly despicable creature. Go back to where you came from, demon, and leave me at peace."

"At peace?" The demon snorts. "I've been watching you for the last fifty years, angel-boy. It didn't look much like being at peace from where I was standing."

"Fifty years?" Castiel says, disbelief clear in his voice. "I didn't…"

"Sense me?" Arching her eyebrow, the demon smiles. "You where busy daydreaming about things that happened centuries ago."

"What I choose to do with my time is no concern of yours."

"See, that's where you're wrong. I said that I can help you and I can."

"How?"

"I can make you forget," the demon whispers, its human face growing serious. "Forget that there ever existed a man named Dean Winchester."

Unconsciously, Castiel takes a step backward, everything in him rebelling against the demon's words. "If you try, demon, I will make you regret crawling out of that wretched place that created you."

"Relax, Castiel," the demon says in mock exasperation. "I need your permission before I can play with your mind."

"And why would I give you one?"

"Think about it, angel," the demon says softly. "How long were you a good little angel? For how long was "yes" the only thing you were able to say? How many thousands of years did you throw down the drain when you turned into a lovesick puppy?"

The demon disappears when Castiel takes a step forward, only to reappear behind his back. "Will you quit it with the macho act? I'm trying to help you, you imbecile."

"My answer is no, so quit wasting your time and leave."

The demon shakes her head. "Fine, if that's what you want," she says and disappears.

When she disappears and Castiel finds himself alone again, he closes his eyes, feeling like he did that time when an angel told him that he would never be able to go home again. Cold and shivering.

******

The demon doesn't appear, but Castiel can feel its presence – dark and malicious, circling the outer outskirts of his senses. Like a vulture, waiting for its chance.

Waiting for Castiel to become too weak, too desperate to suffer through another one of those moments between dreams and reality when he loses Dean all over again.

******

"Have you thought about my offer?" The demon asks as it materializes next to him, this time wearing a different body – a teenage boy with dark hair – sounding impatient.

Castiel doesn't bother looking at it. "My answer is still no," he says evenly, trying to figure out how long it has been since its first visit. He cannot.

"As you wish, angel-boy, but just so you know, I might change my mind and when you come begging me to take away your memories, you might be in for a surprise."

"I will never beg you for anything, least of all what you're offering."

"Really?" The demon drawls, and the mocking tone of its voice makes Castiel turn to look at it. He regrets his decision immediately because the eyes looking at him aren't black anymore, they're green and Castiel has to clench his teeth together to stop himself from screaming in anguish. "Not even when your love turns to resentment and then hate? When you start despising all that you once loved about Dean?"

"I would never…"

"I bet you once thought you would never turn your back on heaven," the demon says softly, almost gently, and Castiel wants to avert his eyes from the green eyes shining with false warmth, but he can't. "How about turning your back on God? Tell me, Castiel, when was the last time you prayed? Do you still know how it's done?"

"I," Castiel starts, but can't finish. He doesn't know how to pray. The words are gone along with the love he once had for his former home and brothers. Even his Father.

"You know I'm right, don't you?" It says, taking a step closer, moving slow and sinuous, like a snake, and Castiel feels trapped. Trapped inside his human body, paralyzed with fear and the sudden chilling realization that the creature is right. "It might take you centuries, but you'll get there. You will curse Dean's name and every memory of him will be just another nightmare you won't be able to wake up from."

"No," Castiel says, but his voice is nothing but a hollow whisper that makes the demon smile condescendingly.

"Time, Castiel. It's the greatest curse of all and it's the only thing you have," it says, gluing its body against Castiel's, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. "Heaven has washed its hands of you… Your Father doesn't need your services anymore, and hell," the demon sighs, its breath ghosting over Castiel's face. It feels wrong to stand so close to this creature, and Castiel wants to burn it out of the human body it is wearing, but he cannot move. All he can do is listen. "Even if others of my kind could find a way to drag you down there, they wouldn't do it. You're doing a bang-up job of torturing yourself. So," it pauses, tilting its head, "do we have a deal?"

"I," Castiel starts, but the words die on his lips. He is tempted. For the first time he truly wants to end this torment, end his yearning for something he can never have. And do it before the worst happens and this creature's words come to pass.

Castiel almost gives up, almost utters the word 'yes', when he sees a triumphant gleam inside the demon's eyes. "No," he forces out, wrenching himself out of the demon's embrace. "Leave. Now, and never return."

Disappointment flashes across the demon's face before it settles into an unreadable mask. "You're a fool, Castiel," it says bluntly. "This world is dying and soon you'll be the only living creature in this wasteland. Well, you and the cockroaches. And you're doing all this for someone who doesn't even remember you."

With that the demon disappears, but Castiel knows it will be back. He doesn't know what makes this demon so interested in him and he doesn't believe in the explanation it gave, but with the same certainty he knows the demon won't leave him alone.

Closing his eyes, Castiel allows his body to sink down to the ground, the demon's last words still echoing mockingly inside his mind.

Dean doesn't remember him, not anymore. There is no escaping that. Heaven means bliss and peace, but for human souls that enter through its gates it also means forgetting. It means that the soul that was once a man named Dean Winchester doesn't remember that there is an angel Castiel who loved him. Who still loves him. Who has lost everything because of that feeling.

Dean spent forty years in hell trying to be strong, telling 'no' to the monster that tore him to pieces every single day, offered him reprieve from pain if he started inflicting it himself. Thirty years Dean resisted, but then came the thirty first and Dean broke. He said 'yes'.

Now, on his knees, alone in the middle of an uninhabitable wasteland not so different from the real hell, Castiel wonders when _he_ will break and allow a demon to cleanse his mind and soul of every trace of Dean - his face, his voice, his lips, the bright flames of his soul…

Castiel wishes the answer is_ never_, but he knows better. He will break. He will say 'yes'. He will lose Dean completely.

Castiel knows all this and no matter how much the truth hurts, he cannot weep. His tears have finally run dry, so he does the only thing he can: he waits. And remembers. While he still can.


End file.
